


Scratch

by AWormWillTurn



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, listen I’m hopeless for noah, roah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWormWillTurn/pseuds/AWormWillTurn
Summary: In which we find out why Noah decided to scratch Ronan up when he went full poltergeist on the gangsey, what it was like when he and Whelk were alive and young,  and other gay, possibly traumatizing  things.





	1. Chapter 1

Ronan woke in the night to find his headphones still hung around his sweat-slicked neck and the moonlight carving out a slice of something pale and ... convulsing, on his bedroom floor. 

He sprung from his bed as if he’d pulled the hellfire of his night terrors out alongside him. “Noah! Hey, c’mon now!” 

The light streaming in through his open window did Noah’s horribly twisting body no favors. If anything, it only highlighted how frail he was, how pale—how violently he shook and stretched, all the while attempting desperately to shield his face from an attacker that was no longer there. No longer living, thanks to Parrish. 

“You’re not supposed to be in my room, man.” Ronan said out loud though what he meant to say was _I don’t know how to help you when you’re like this. How do I help you, Noah?_

It wouldn’t matter, though, Noah had the irritating curse of knowing exactly what Ronan was thinking. What he meant. So he knew how helpless he felt, could feel his heart racing all the way into his hands as he gripped the smaller, white-haired boy who held all the qualities of a memory but not much else. 

Noah was ice where Ronan touched him. Noah was always ice, but at least it was Noah. so Ronan had no choice but to wait it out, hands still gripping wrists and ankles and whatever else Ronan thought might help to put his hands on. 

Because Noah needed energy. Because Noah needed warmth. And because Noah once mentioned that Ronan, and his endless capacity for creating, made him as warm as sunlight and Noah missed that sensation more than his shitty emo bands. 

The two went on like this for long moment, long enough for Ronan to worry about Gansey walking in on them. Long enough for him to imagine Gansey as a young disheveled god, sleeplessly rumpled face turned pale in shock the second he laid eyes on Noah. It had been a month since Gansey and Sargent had found his rotten corpse and since then Noah had wanted nothing to do with them... but he still appeared to Ronan. At least, when he could. 

If Gansey knew this it might kill him a little and Ronan wouldn’t risk it. 

Ronan felt a tugging sensation all the way to his core, he heaved in one loud breath then felt a chilled burst escape every pore of his body. In front of him, Noah finally stilled. His fingers wrapped around Ronan’s wrist. 

He asked, “Can dead things be haunted by other dead things?” 

“How the fuck would I know,” responded Ronan but there was barely any heat to it. Exhaling, he sank off his knees and stretched his leg, careful not to release his hold on Noah. 

Noah, to his credit, sounded satisfied with the response. He closed his eyes and did a perfect impression of a living boy inhaling and exhaling because he needed to. Whatever had caused his episode was gone now and all that was left was the memory of a boy with a bruised eye and ears so big they’d win a blue ribbon at any county fair. 

“I can hear better because of them, too.” Noah said, sounding as insubstantial as ever.

Ronan grimaced. “Just because you’re out now doesn’t mean you get a free pass to be creepy.”

Noah’s fair brows pinched together, his mouth moving in a way that suggested he was mulling something over carefully. Finally, he said, “when you’re out will you get a pass?” 

An unexpected jolt went through Ronan but before he had the chance to respond with something as compounded and vile as he felt in that moment, Noah faded away. 


	2. Chapter 2

Noah hadn’t meant to follow Ronan home. 

A half emptied bottle of vodka cradled protectively in one hand, Ronan peered over his shoulder, and, none too kindly, asked,“Do you want to throw one too or what?” 

There was a long pause as Noah regarded the scene playing out before him. They were in a parking lot. There was six pack of long, empty bottles. There was a white mitsubishi. There was a boy with a gnarly buzzcut and eyes as brilliant and blue as a storm. There was a crash, a smash, and howl as another bottle broke across the car’s hood. 

There was also the strange sensation that Noah had lived this exact moment before but not as a spectator. 

Ronan fetched another bottle, held it over his head, turned it and then wound back—coiled muscles straining under the thin fabric of his uniform. He paused and without turning his head, said, “Man. You are creepy as hell back there. Will you just come over here and throw one.” 

This was less of a request and more of an order. 

Noah was nothing if not complaisant, though, he wasn’t certain if it had always been this way or if it was just another symptom of being one of the living impaired. He crossed the empty school parking lot, enjoying the subtle sensation of gravel cracking and crunching under his shoes like it meant something. 

“I think you’re supposed to set them on fire before you throw them,” Noah said, standing besides Ronan and hoping his voice carried.

To his surprise, Ronan laughed and Noah enjoyed the curt breathlessness of it as if he was the one laughing. “Then it stops being vandalism and starts being arson.”

“I like fire,” Noah admitted.

“’Course you do, freak. Here.” He shoved the bottle into his hand and then angled his body towards the Mitsubishi’s left headlight. “Can you throw at all?”

Noah was partially distracted by a burning sensation where Ronan’s hands met his shoulders. The feeling settled in his stomach, then it moved up and down his legs. His fingers, he mused, he could feel each one of them individually. It had been days, maybe months—most likely years, since he could feel his fingers like they were his own again. When he looked at them they looked almost _pink._

“I think so!” Noah stammered, too loud. Ronan gave him a measured glance but allowed him enough room to launch. 

Without thinking, Noah stuck out his tongue and narrowed his eyes. The bottle felt heavy in the hand that lifted it over his head. He took a step back, front leg bent at the knee, then he pushed forward with a grunt and watched the bottle spin out of his grasp and crack right against a tire—just off his mark.

It _felt_ like his heart raced. Excitement mixing with endorphins to create complete and total rapture. 

Noah spun around expecting Ronan to be there—hoping he’d weigh in on his throwing, but he was gone. 

Noah swore he hadn’t meant to follow Ronan home. 

But the second his eyes found his retreating figure heading down the main road Noah couldn’t help but go after him. 

Two days, a year or maybe a few minutes passed before Noah realized that Ronan was wearing headphones and that was why he hadn’t heard him calling out for him. Not because Noah was fading again. Which was a relief. 

Noah rung his hands as he continued after him, wondering how he was going to explain why he felt compelled to follow in the first place. Also, he wasn’t entirely sure Ronan wouldn’t punch him once he noticed—but Noah had already accepted the possibility at that point. Besides, there was no way of knowing if he’d feel the blow. 

Ronan traveled a good thirty minutes on foot before large spaces grew between buildings and stately looking lampposts —the new kinds, the ones that made Noah feel alien and other and _forgotten_ — gave way to the older, smaller lights. The ones Noah grew up with. 

Ronan finally stopped at a broken down building that looked like it was mostly made out of glass, dingy red brick and promises of asbestos. 

The taller boy passed through the front door and Noah faded into the black 

When Noah reappeared he was struck by how much ceiling there suddenly was when just before there was not. across the vast empty space, the vast empty room, sat a bespectacled boy with pretty quaffed hair that looked like it would be nice to play with. Ronan stood just behind him, hands fisted in his pockets. 

“Ronan! I’ve been calling for hours now, where were you? Actually never mind, i don’t care. Could you help me with these boxes? Oh—” the last part, a little gaps of genuine surprise, was directed at Noah. “Hello there! Ronan you didn’t tell me you brought a new roommate along.”

Ronan straightened and Noah could feel his unease travel up his spine just before he turned towards him. “I didn’t...” 

The bespeckled boy with the pretty hair and even prettier smile didn’t let him finish, instead he stood up and strode over to him. Noah was overcome with the feeling of having lived this moment before, but it hadn’t been as happy last time. Not even close. “You came about the school ad, right? For the roomie?” 

Ronan’s stare was now a glare but it wasn’t all anger, it wasn’t even all confusion, instead it was ... searching. Finding, maybe. 

 

“Y-yes. I mean, yes!” He practically shouted once he found control of his tongue. He would have to figure out rent. And scheduling. And.... living. 

Noah hadn’t meant to follow Ronan home. He swore on his life that he hadn’t.

“Brilliant! I’m Gansey and this is my friend Ronan.”

But he was glad that he did.


	3. CRACK CHAPTER CRACK CHAPTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to thank Steven for the word of the day and I dedicate this to everyone else on the server. I love ye.

Blue didn’t want to be the first to ask but she didn’t need to be a psychic to know that if she didn’t the question would remain unanswered.

With that in mind, she blew out a breath, looked at Gansey with a spoon in his mouth and then turned to the shirtless boy in the middle of the room with fingers splayed over his chest. 

“Noah, why are you covering your nipples like that?” 

From inside the closet Ronan stopped tossing shirts and other black articles of clothing he planned to dress Noah in out at them. Noah simply looked at her and calmly stated, “I don’t want to be obscene.” 

“Right. Of course.” That was as good as an answer as she was going to get and the rest of the gang seemed to agree. 

But Noah wasn’t done. In a quiet tenuous way, the way he always spoke, he said. “I wouldn’t let you see my _bussy either_. I think it’s common decency.” 

At this Gansey spat out the bit of yogurt he’d shared with Blue. Adam, to his credit, looked at Noah with wide eyes but not much else. Blue sat absolutely silent for an endless amount of time until that silence was stolen. Ronan practically convulsed with laughter, a black tank top still clutched between his fingers. 

Quick on the uptake as ever, Gansey sent a pointed glare in Lynch’s direction. “Ronan, don’t teach him things like that.”

Ronan was breathless. “I didn’t!”

Noah stood, crossing over to pick up one of Ronan’s T and shrugged into it. Voice more adamant than Blue ever remembered it being, he said, “everyone should know what a bussy is. It’s common anatomy. Now, can we hurry up? Mine is starting to hurt from sitting so long.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hit that like button if you freaking love Noah wow

Noah was great at impressions. Not just the type that threw his voice around or the ones he used to playfully parody Gansey when Gansey wasn’t looking, but the type of impression that made Ronan forget that he was dead. 

However, in that moment, Noah was doing his best impression of a pile of blankets—or, somehow, he’d failed at building a fort. Either way, he was sitting in the middle of Monmouth with one of Ronan’s blanket wrapped around him. 

He looked ...soft.

“Comfortable?” Ronan asked, stretching back besides him. 

Noah tore his gaze from where it had been glued to the floor and over to Ronan’s face. His eyes were vast and vacant and far, far away. Then suddenly they were just eyes. Sparkly blue like a child’s. 

“I think, maybe, it was the second one.” 

Ronan scowled. “What did I say about reading my thoughts, dude. Knock it off. If you want to keep living here you have to stop acting....uh, acting—“

“Dead?” Noah supplied, sounding nonplussed. 

Ronan didn’t know how to respond to that so he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose and waited until Noah said something. 

But he didn’t and continued not to for an irritating amount of time. 

Ronan was keen to break the awkward silence but became suddenly aware of something ice cold grazing his skull. His eyes shot open as quickly as his hand. Noah didn’t look surprised to see Ronan’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. Hell, he didn’t even looked bothered. Ronan may as well not have been there, but the fact of the matter was that he was. 

“What is it, Noah?”

Noah froze, his mouth forming a perfect o as he took Ronan in. “I’m freaking you out?”

Ronan scoffed. “Dude, you’re always freaking me out. Just tell me what you’re doing.”

Noah sank back on his knees, then pulled at the corner of Ronan’s blanket. “Sometimes I can feel things—texture. I can feel this blanket, it’s soft. Real soft.” 

Noah’s old Virginian accent peaked through as he spoke, clipping some of the vowels. Ronan’s mind clouded with the living images of tan, freckled skin and premature forehead lines. His grimace deepened. “What does that have to do with you getting handsy with my head?”

Noah took another long pause. “It’s prickly—your head. It feels nice on my palm. I was starting to forget hair.” 

The boys sat still for a minute, neither of them speaking. Ronan rolled down onto his elbows and Noah pressed his fingers into the crook of his elbow. 

He was trying, Ronan realized. Trying so damn hard to perfect his impression of a living boy. One who didn’t have to drown himself in fabrics to feel them, one who didn’t have to touch someone else’s hair to remember what hair was like. 

Ronan wanted to tell him he didn’t have to do it. The impressions. That he was fine the way he was now. That it didn’t really matter to him if he could feel things or not—if he could pass as alive or not. But that wouldn’t matter to Noah, because it wasn’t something that made any difference for him. It was something Ronan just had to accept. 

Noah was dead. Had been dead their entire friendship. And ...it hurt. It still hurt.

But it must have hurt Noah a lot more. 

“Give me your damn hand, Casper.” Ronan demanded, hand outstretched. 

Noah’s expression was strange, eerily present and tickled with fondness. He’d seen that face before, he’d used the face before. In another life, the one that involved playing hide-and-seek with Gansey at the barns and people tousling his inky curls. 

Can dead things be haunted by dead things?

“I wish I would have seen it. I bet hair suited you really well.” Noah admitted, carefully running his palm across Ronan’s head. 

Ronan could think of plenty of reasons to chastise Noah for his mental eavesdropping again but he didn’t have the heart for it. His hand stayed wrapped around his wrist as Noah’s palm roamed. 

“It was like Matthews’s—just not blond.” 

Noah erupted in breathless giggles punctuated with something that sounded a lot like snorting. 

“Now what?” Ronan asked, feeling like he’d missed out on something. 

It took Noah a while to wind down but when he did he struck Ronan with a smile so big it made his elephant ears wiggle just a little. It seemed like, for the first time in a long time, Noah could feel something that wasn’t exactly tangible. Unless you counted the laughing, but that was more of a symptom of the very human disease than the disease itself.

Ronan felt his lip twitch up to one side without his permission. “What is it, freak?”

“I imagined you as a blond. You’d be like a grizzled cherub! Can you even imagine that? One big-ass cherub with a giant back tattoo!” 

When Noah’s giggling started up again Ronan shoved him just hard enough to hide his smile.


	5. Chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends 
> 
> Sorry I’ve been away so long. Some of you know that I’ve been suffering from deteriorating health issues for the better part of a year now. I hate talking about it but it’s looking more and more like a brain tumor. I’ll have it confirmed or denied a few days before Xmas this year 
> 
> You can imagine I haven’t been feeling all that great 
> 
> I’ve had this chapter planned for a while but now that I’m in the mood to write it ~ I decided it was right to finally post it 
> 
> Let me know what you think 🌻  
>  
> 
> Thank you all for your kind and encouraging words on both this fic and my recovery 💕 love you lots 
> 
> \- your friend howl

“Can dead things be haunted by other dead things?” 

Barry looked at Noah like he’d grown a second head or scuffed his Air Jordan 12 OVO’s against his skateboard again—which he had, though Barry hadn’t chided him for it. _Yet._

“What?” Barry said in a tone that actually asked, _what the fuck, Czerny?_

He was all tired exasperation and premature frown lines. 

But even with the air of ancient unrest, Barrington Whelk was a king of Henrietta, _The King of Aglionby._ There was no doubt about it, though he wasn’t the smiley, generous, kissing babies type. Especially now, with whatever was happening at home with his father’s job, Barry had been struggling more and more to be _...less dickish._

Noah studied the boy’s features, looking for any sliver of sympathy or even interest in those oversized eyes of his, before he shrugged to one side, revealing the cause of his distress. “I think he’s hurt.” 

They were supposed to be at a bonfire by the river hosted by Barry’s girlfriend, or maybe his own, Noah couldn’t remember, but Noah got the bright idea to stop for a few spirits to pass around and pass the time. _One shouldn’t arrive anywhere empty handed,_ his mother always said. _And spirits could do miracles to lift one’s own_ his sister had always added, giving him the direction to the only liquor store in Henrietta that didn’t ask for ID upfront. But the second he’d hopped out of the mustang, Barry stuck in the passenger seat with another one of his splitting headaches, Noah had gotten the sick sense of having lived this moment before. It was haunting. Nauseating almost. Not exactly Déjà vu but not exactly not déjà vu. 

He got the creeping suspicion that if he took one more step towards the shady little liquor store he would see something—learn something—that would stay with him for the rest of his life. 

That’s when he heard the desperate cawing of a black bird stuck on what must have been burning asphalt. Noah hadn’t a clue what needed to be done, but he knew he should be doing something. 

The Raven spooked a bit but made no move to attack when Noah sunk down to inspect it’s eyes, legs, and beak. Finally, he found enough courage to tip the birds left wing to one side with his fingertips and in return the animal let out a noise so violent in it's agony that it had garnered even Barry’s attention.

The car door sounded shut and Noah felt another bout of desperation. “Can dead things haunt other dead things?”

“What?”

“I think he’s hurt.” 

There was a silent ruffling of denim against whatever millionaire material Barry’s trench coat was made out of, and then he was crouching just besides him. The Raven let out another disorienting sound, this one more human than the last. 

Noah’s heart raced in his chest, his breathing coming up fast but Barry raised a brow and gave the bird an unimpressed look. 

Noah spoke around his tightening throat. “I think he’s hurt his wing—might have gotten into it with a hawk or something. There’s a vet ‘bout 2 miles from here, if we—“

“There’s no point, Czerny.”

Noah looked at Barry, mouth parted with every question or curse he’d ever wanted to voice into existence. “What?”

Barry’s expression never changed, he didn’t even look at Noah when he said. “See how short his wings are? How small his body is. This one’s a weakling, Noah. He was never going to make it.”

When Noah didn’t respond, Barry glanced over at him and his expression softened just enough to pass as compassion. “Some things are born to die, Noah. Not everyone is meant to live a long life. This bird was meant to be eaten by a hawk or an eagle or whatever the hell else eats ravens. It’s a sacrifice. It’s not a nice thing to think about but that’s just how the world works. If we take it to the vet and they fix him up it doesn’t meant he won’t go about getting himself injured like this again. It’s fate, Czerny. Destiny.”

Barry’s words vibrated through Noah’s head like the buzz of a plane taking off. When Noah looked back down at the bird, suddenly aware of it's silence, he couldn’t help but feel his heart seize. His eyes watered. “But he’s suffering, Barry.” He heard himself say a million miles away from where his soul trembled. 

Noah felt his friend’s palm land heavy on his shoulder as he squeezed. “Do you trust me, Noah?”

Noah turned his face, uber aware of a warm bead of wetness carving a gentle path down his cheek. No matter what he said, he knew deep down,it would not be the answer Barry wanted to hear. 

“Yes.” Noah said quietly. 

Barry disappeared and when he returned noah’s skateboard was tucked under his arm. His expression was blank save a watery twinkle in his eyes. 

Two and two should have made four, but it hadn’t until Barry came closer to the bird and held the board over his head. 

Noah caught one final glance at it, still and quiet like it knew what was coming next and accepted it. 

But Noah hadn’t. He couldn’t. He shot up, stretching his arms and pushing his knees. Helplessness rose up to choke him. It had already been too late.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this because I’m sick af and love Noah
> 
> Like/ comment if you are also sick af and love Noah

Ronan’s second thought when he glimpsed at Gansey carrying a tray of what looked like canned soup and a sports drink towards his room was that he was going to _kill_ Noah. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick? You look as a pale as a—“

“Corpse.” Noah finished easily, stepping away from Gansey’s sallow side to place his hand across Ronan’s clammy forehead. Ronan swatted at him, though the chill Noah’s skin gave off felt like an answered prayer. He dissolved into a coughing fit.

Noah said, voice one part teasing and one part kind. “I’m telling you, I’m starting to think you’re in love with me.” 

“Shut,” _Cough._ “Up.” _Wheeze._

Gansey practically tore right out of his skin and awful pastel polo shirt with concern—and something a lot like motherly disappointment. He set the tray at the foot of Ronan’s bed, careful of the spray paint can that he was sure had been red two seconds ago but was now very violet resting besides Ronan’s leg. “Is this a fever? The flu? Did you eat something funny?”

Ronan’s eyes rolled and he found that even that made him feel as if he —or maybe the whole world—were spinning. If he could find his vocal cords in all the phlegm and ache in his throat, he’d let Gansey know that it didn’t matter what it was because he wasn’t going to a doctor. 

Noah set his shoulders and sighed, reminding Gansey he was still there. “It’s his tonsils again. The right one is going to have to go, save you want to choke to death in your sleep.” 

_Fuck you, if I die now we’ll be stuck in this shithole forever._

“If you love me half as much as I think you do then we’ll be just fine.” Noah answered, grinning his sleepy, touched by winter grin. 

Ronan meant to kick at his snowy figure but Gansey put a defensive hand on his knee and another agonizing coughing fit set him right back into his mess of sheets. 

“It’s just a sore throat,” Noah finally said to Gansey who looked back at him as if the statue of a saint had come to life right in front of him. He fixed his glasses. 

“Do you think a house-call is in order?”

If they could just stop talking like he was brain dead—

“Nah, get some cough medicine and some jello. Once he’s well enough to land a punch you can make an appointment with the ENT about those rancid tonsils of his.” Noah said, which was more than either of the boys had ever heard him say since ...ever. 

_Are you draining my life’s blood to be here right now?_

Noah suddenly looked very offended but sounded just as lily soft as ever. “I’m not a vampire.” 

Gansey blinked his confusion. “I never said you were. You’re our friend, Noah.”

“Right,” Noah said. 

Gansey spared Ronan one last glance before fixing his gaze back to Noah. His brows were set, considering and then affirming, then considering and then finally deciding. “Can you watch him while I make a trip to the pharmacy?”

__

__

_I’m not a fucking toddler, Jesus Christ._

Noah nodded and the next thing Ronan heard was the enticing sputtering of the pig coming to life through the crack in his window and Noah’s steady breathing. 

_What now, Noah?_

Ronan felt Noah’s hand on his cheek before he saw his seaside eyes a few inches from his face. His face felt hot. “What was the first thing?” 

The knife he must have swallowed made it impossible for him to respond but they both knew he didn’t have to speak for Noah to hear him. 

__

__

What?

“You noticed Gansey, that was your second thought. What was your first thought?” 

__

Who the hell cares? What a dumbass question. 

Ronan was able to make a dismissive clicking sound with his tongue and then forced himself to roll onto his side—away from anything or anyone. A while passed before he stopped feeling Noah’s essence within arm’s reach and sleep came over him like the first dusting of snow in December. 

_The first thing ... the first thing Ronan had thought was that Noah was right._


	7. Chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow this was supposed to be just roah prompts but now it’s roah with a side of Noah when he was alive and What role Whelk played in all of this 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, someone reminded me that Whelk CANON banged Noah’s gf and I’mmmmmmmm not ok 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, here’s another Noah chapter  
> Please send me roah prompts (@ sainthowlsfire on tumblr) I hate whelk so much

They stayed up working well past midnight. Barry had spent most of his time with his nose stuck in that gnarly looking journal he’d borrowed from an even gnarlier looking dude from somewhere in the UK (both of which gave Noah the heebie jeebies) while Noah spent it hanging streamers and planting glitter bombs by light switches, under chairs cushions, and everywhere else he could get his excitable little mitts on. 

It was possible he was overdoing it, maybe by a smidgen, but birthday parties —like raves, skinny dipping, and drag racing— were like crack to him. 

Or was that speed?

Noah wanted to ask Barry but when he looked over his shoulder at him he was no longer in his chair. 

“Noah.”

 _“Shit!”_ Noah yelped, losing grip of his glitter bomb to steady himself against the ladder. An explosion of silver sparkles erupted just below him. Barry groaned. 

_“CZERNY!”_

Noah’s mouth formed a perfect “o” for the briefest of moments before the scene before him set in and his surprise gave way to side-aching laughter. “What’s new, pussycat?”

“I think you’re taking this raven thing too seriously, you’re not actually a bird. Your glitter fetish is getting out of hand,” whelk said, dusting his hair off with the flat of his palm, flicking opal luster into the air. Noah watched it swirl like a tiny constellation until it was nothing but a smattering of wayward stars. “Just look at me.”

He did. 

“I think it’s an improvement,” Noah admitted, leaping down from the top of the ladder with a flourish. He grinned. “And I prefer to call it a _‘penchant for radiance’.”_

Whatever Barry thought of that he didn’t seem to keen on sharing and instead said, “This is a lot of time and effort your wasting for just some girl.” 

“Ah!” Noah wiggled a finger at the taller, dark-haired boy. “Kelly isn’t just some girl and I’m doing this for love.” They’d been going strong for 6 months now and Noah was pretty stoked to know that someone understood the extent of his loving and how unlimited and indiscriminate it could be. Kelly accepted Noah in a way no one else probably could. Well, no one else but—

“Besides, Alejandro’s never been to a Czerny original pre-dawn kick.” Noah said, internally praying his voice kept even. 

Barry’s ears seemed to perk up. “Alejandro? Like, Ruiz? The exchange kid on the rowing team?”

Noah rubbed some of the heat from out of his cheeks. “The very one.” 

Barry made a dismissive clucking sound with his front teeth and tongue that made Noah’s chest tighten. “Does he even speak English?”

At that, Noah frowned. “Careful now. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re running the risk of saying something ugly.” 

“I’m not saying anything but what I said.” 

“You’re inferring, then.”

Whelk raised one perfectly dark brow. “Heavens, Noah. I’m just trying to make sense of it. Are you trying to impress your girlfriend or some boy from school? What is it? You like him or something?”

As much as he wanted it, Noah knew that Barry might not ever understand him. Worse still, he might judge him... and he might even lose Barry over it. 

Noah didn’t know if either of them would survive a falling out like that. He might have had other friends, certainly more open-minded ones, but Barry... Even as the king of Henrietta, Barry had such a hard time forming real connections with others. Noah had spent the better part of a semester getting Barry to cozy up to him. And with all things going on with Mr. Whelks’ trial ....

He sucked in a breath and ran a hand through his hair to set himself. The dried gel spikes came undone between his fingers, leaving his blond hair in a tousled mop. With a ghost of a smile, Noah said, “You sound jealous. Worried I have my eyes on another man?”

There was a possibility that his joke wouldn’t land but after a moment Barry finally cracked a smile. He shoved Noah’s shoulder playfully enough. A confirmation that they’d agree drop whatever it was that could have turned into a quarrel. 

“Well, you’re too good for Ruiz.” Barry said, reaching over for a glitter bomb. 

“Oh?” 

“And if you ask me; too good for Kelly, too.” 

Noah shook his head, teasing. “Ok, you don’t sound jealous at all. I’m starting to think you love me, whelk. You can’t live without your old chum, Czerny?”

A strange shadow passed over Barry’s face. The type of shadow that didn’t need to be seen to be felt all the way. He titled his head, and raised his arm. 

The room fell into silence and then a heartbeat, slow and knowing and wrong filled Noah’s ears. 

“Of course i do, Czerny.” There was the sound of rubber popping over his head and Noah’s vision blurred with million flecks of brilliant light. He couldn’t see Barry walking away, but he could hear the distance in his voice as he moved towards the door of their dorm room. “Of course.” 

Suddenly, all Noah could think of was the raven from weeks before—it’s stillness seconds before Barry struck. 

He felt it. 

Stil. Still. _Still._

The rusty doorknob turned with a squeak and Barry’s boat shoes came to an audible stop. “I mean it, by the way. Kelly’s only good for one thing and one thing only, she ain’t worth all this trouble. Trust me, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments 
> 
> They keep me going 🌻

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Woooo, you did it friend you made it to the end! Good on you. I really love roah and thus this will be a collection of roah snippets.
> 
> If you have questions comments or concerns let me know in the comments below 
> 
>  
> 
> Your friend, A worm


End file.
